Two large pizzas and a dessert for under twelve quid. Thank you, Papa John’s.
It made a nice tea and there’s even leftovers for tomorrow. Cold pizza is amazing.
The Domino’s Pizza man was at Bath City’s Community Day this afternoon. As he approached, I was about to point out that Pizza Express were better, when I noticed he was carrying a box of Haribo. I think these were intended for children, but I was given some. I had to ask though.
Is it bad that almost all the text messages and emails I receive are not from friends and family, but from pizza takeaway chains? Apparently tonight I can buy one pizza and get another free. No doubt I’ll get another text later in the week, about some bollocks promotion for Friday night. Get to feck. We ordered a pizza last week from an establishment I won’t mention, for fear of being sued, going to prison and getting raped in the showers. The pizza was disgusting. It was wet, soggy and tasted like I was eating a baby’s nappy. I will add, it wasn’t from Pizzarella, who, despite sadly changing ownership, are still by far the best pizza takeaway in Bath. No, the nappy pizza was from one of those national chains. Eugh!
One of the few texts I did receive this year which wasn’t regarding half price pizza, was from Claire. She text me from work today, to inform me that maintenance had been carried out in our house and sadly I couldn’t have a shower tonight. I don’t really like showers and could happily wander around for days in my own stale perspiration and body odour. However, work colleagues would get a bit disgusted and I don’t think Claire would like it very much either if I gave up washing. I therefore had a bath. It was a nice bath actually. I was tempted to get some candles, a glass of wine and play Enya, whilst drifting away in a tub of Radox, hopefully not passing out from the hot water and drowning in my sleep.
I was spared death by the simple fact that I have plans this evening, so therefore had to cut my bath short. I’m going down to Twerton Park to watch the irresistible force of Bath City take on the immovable object of Ebbsfleet United. Good thing I have a season ticket, as it’ll no doubt be a sell-out, with literally billions of fans watching the game on television worldwide.
Now enough of this blogging lark, it’s time for my tea. Fancy a guess of what I’m having? You’ll be jealous. Turkey Dinosaurs! Raaaaaw!
Yes, the T-Rex is eating the other dinosaur. I know what happens. I’ve seen Jurassic Park.
Today has been an exciting day. OK, exciting may be a slight exaggeration, but it is fair to say it has been a bit more interesting than others.
If you read my blog yesterday, you will have seen I was forced to spend the entire afternoon and part of the evening cleaning the house. I am pleased to report, that I broke free from my chains and shackles and am no longer a slave. I must give my slave master a doff of the hat, however, as I did a bloody good job at cleaning the place.
The letting agency called round to inspect the place, commenting how tidy it was and how all the mildew and grime which was on the shower during her last visit had now gone. A tad surprising, considering that was one of the few areas I hadn’t put much effort into cleaning. We were also complemented on our clean widows (something we have never washed) and our Liverpool FC bed cover. I had to point out that I was not a Liverpool supporter and the bed cover was certainly not from the Merseyside club! Just as we thought we were going to get a perfect review, she found some mould under the towel in the bathroom. A towel used to soak up a leak from the shower door they still haven’t fixed by them, so technically, not my fault – and that’s the law of the land, so there. While the lady didn’t say how well we did, I think I’ll award us an A-.
As part of the house renovation/cleaning, I ordered some storage containers from Argos. I felt the stacks of cardboard boxes in the spare bedroom where a bit unsightly and I would therefore transfer their contents (mostly Leeds United books) into something a little more attractive – rectangular blocks of PVC.
The estimated delivery time was between 7am and 6pm. I therefore set my alarm and was up and out and out of bed first thing in the morning. I knew Argos wouldn’t come that early and fully expected them to turn up while I was eating my tea, in the middle of Coach Trip. I was giving them too much credit. Shortly after 8am, my mobile phone rang. It was Argos, kindly informing me that they would not be coming at all today. Bastards. Like any good Watchdog viewer, who knows their customer rights, I moaned a bit about how I would be greatly inconvenienced and asked that my delivery charge be waived. It was. Anne Robinson would be proud of me, although I’ll still need to be on guard for when the boxes are delivered tomorrow. If they think I’ll be up at 7am tomorrow though, they can get to feck.
My last piece of exciting news took place yesterday. It involves takeaway pizza. Takeaway pizza from Pizzarella – that amazing place on Chelsea Road which makes the best pizzas outside of Italy – hand cooked in a flame oven by some crazy old Italian. Sadly, the crazy old Italian appears to have retired and the place has changed hands. I have been a little suspicious if this is actually for the better, especially when I noticed they are now selling kebabs and alcohol. I have therefore avoided it, although moving away from Newbridge is probably the biggest factor in me not frequenting the place.
Last night though, I found out that they now deliver! I ordered my favourite – cheese and mushroom pizza. It was delivered promptly and wasn’t that bad. OK, it didn’t have the taste of Italian passion, anger and sweat the pizzas of old once had, but it was still very nice, and much better than Pizza Hut, Dominos and the likes. Yes, I think I’ll be going back there again. Well done. Or should that be “ben fatto”.
Pizza delivery!
Jaws
A few weeks ago, I noticed to my extreme excitement that Jaws was being re-released at the cinema. Jaws is my favourite film of all time. Sharks are cool and any film which involves a child being eaten alive in a brutal, gory death is always worth watching at least 50 times. Jaws was originally released in 1975, meaning I was born too late to see it at the cinema. Sadly, I also missed out on Manchester United being relegated the year before, not to mention the invention of the food processor.
I managed to persuade John to accompany me to the Showcase, bribing him with pre-movie visit to Nandos. After eating chicken, we went to the cinema, where tickets were purchased along with Ice Blasts. £3.60 each. Three pounds AND sixty pissing pence! It was only a few years ago, John and I would visit Showcase and be able to buy TWO Ice Blasts for a fiver. How things have changed. Bring back Tony Blair and affordable ice drinks.
Despite Jaws being by far the best film being shown in the entire multiplex, it was shamefully relegated to the crap screen at the end of the corridor. The floor was sticky, the room smelt of toilets and everything I moved on my chair, it squeaked. The screen was also very small. I could have just watched the DVD at home and sat close to my telly. I am sure a crap film written by Katie Price, featuring Miley Cyrus and a talking egg was being shown on the bigger, premier screen. Sigh.
So the movie. Without wanting to spoil it for you, it’s about shark. It eats a naked drunk woman. Then it eats a skinny child on a waterbed. Still hungry, Jaws, as I have named the shark, eats a man, but spits out his leg. A policeman, scientist and drunk sailor then go out to sea on small boat to kill the big shark. The drunken sailor gets eaten, no doubt saving on a future liver transplant, before the policeman shoots Jaws, who explodes while munching on an oversized tin of deodorant. You can see why it’s my favourite film ever?
There was a very scary bit in the middle where a head appears from a sinking boat. Having seem Jaws about five thousand times, I knew to the frame that the head as about to appear, yet still jumped out my skin, almost soiling myself in the process. The whole cinema knew I jumped too, as the squeaky chair I was sat on made an extra loud squeak as I bolted upright in fear. Apologies to my fellow cinema-goers for the noise…. and the smell.
England
I was planning on writing this blog on Sunday afternoon, before the quarter final against Italy. In the blog I would praise the effort, commitment and passion shown by the England team. A sharp contrast to the 2010 World Cup, where England players performed so poorly, they made me vomit with rage. The fact Italy dominated the entire match, apart from the first 10 minutes, and eventually won in the most typical of fashions – on a penalty shootout – means this blog is a little irrelevant now. Even so, my feelings towards the national side are a lot more positive and optimistic than they were two years ago.
I think John, who can’t stand football, summed up last night with his text message to me at full time. It read simply “Lolz”.
Crazy Italian
No, this isn’t a racial slur following England’s defeat to the vastly superior Italians last night. This is to celebrate the fact John, Simon and I returned to Bath’s finest pizza takeaway outlet on Saturday night. I say “returned”, I went there last week with Claire. In past weeks, the need was felt, not by myself, but by friends, to visit a nearby competitor. A vastly inferior pizza takeaway restaurant.
So why the “Crazy Italian” heading? Anyone who needs to ask that question clearly has not visited Pizzerella when it’s owner has been present – which is all the time. He’s a great man and a fantastic chef, but his staff must fear him. One piece of pepperoni out of place and he explodes. Passionate, but crazy. A great recipe for a good pizza.
A new member of staff was working in the takeaway. A woman behind the till. She didn’t know how to use the till and had to keep asking for help. My pizza cost £7.10. I will have to check my bank statement to ensure I wasn’t charge £710. I also asked for chilli on my pizza. She didn’t know what chilli was. I pointed to a notice board with the word “Chilli”. She said I would get chilli on my pizza. When I got home and opened the box, there was no chilli.
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
